39. The Level of the Middleman

"How did the talk go, Karl?"

Watching Karl walk over, Jackie glanced toward Blanca, who was heading for the exit of the Afterlife bar. "What's the employer's job about?"

"No rush. We'll talk about it on the way back."

With people everywhere outside the private booth, Karl had no intention of discussing the job in a place like this. "Speaking of which, what were you and Oliver up to? I saw you two chatting up the bartender just now."

"All those famous drinks here at the Afterlife seem to be recipes left behind by past legends. Oliver and I were thinking of reserving one for ourselves."

"Reserving one?"

Karl sat down next to Jackie. "But I recall there's a saying—legends of Night City belong in the graveyard."

"That's not entirely accurate," Oliver chimed in. "Right now in Night City, I know of at least two living legends we happen to have some connection with: Adam Smasher, and the owner of the Afterlife, the legendary fixer Rogue. You surely can't discount them as legends of Night City."

"Fair point."

Sitting at the counter, Karl asked out of curiosity what kind of concoctions Oliver and Jackie had left behind.

"A shot of vodka, ice, lime juice, ginger beer, and—oh, the most important part—a little love."

That was Jackie's recipe. Hearing such a mix, Karl couldn't help but make a dry remark:

"Isn't that just a Moscow Mule? You literally just tacked some nonsense about love onto the end."

"Love is the most important part, Karl."

"Fine, whatever."

Karl turned to Oliver. "What did you leave?"

"For me, thirty milliliters of whiskey, a small splash of Drambuie, and, well, a few ice cubes."

"A Rusty Nail? Come on, you're just copying too. Where's your original touch?"

"Who needs originality? When I'm famous one day, people ordering this drink will hear my name, and that's enough to make me happy."

Oliver nudged Karl. "Jackie and I both left our drink recipes. Aren't you going to leave one, Karl?"

"What kind of recipe could I possibly have? If I really had to pick, I'd probably just copy one like you guys."

Karl called the bartender over and ordered a glass of soda water.

"Personally, I think Sprite mixed with red wine is decent."

"What kind of girly drink is that?" Oliver scoffed, looking at the soda water in front of Karl. "And ordering a soft drink at a bar again. Come to think of it, you hardly ever drink."

"It's just about maintaining necessary sobriety and mental alertness." Karl sipped his cold soda water. "We can't all get drunk and leave not a single sober person around. You and Jackie go ahead and drink freely; I've got your backs."

"Well, if I do get drunk, I'm counting on you to watch out for me, Karl."

A voice quite familiar to the three of them came from not far down the bar. Karl looked in the direction of the voice and saw Maine walking toward them with a beer in hand.

"Thanks for looking out for me during the last gig."

Maine dropped heavily onto the stool beside Karl, raising his bottle in a gesture to Oliver and Jackie.

"I should be the one thanking you for coming to check on me."

Karl had already learned on the way what had happened after the job wrapped up. All the mercenaries had come to visit him, but since it was a hospital under Arasaka's control, once they made sure Karl was fine, they all said their goodbyes and left. Maine had been the last to go, only leaving because he received a call, barely four hours after Karl had regained consciousness.

"Nothing to thank me for. Compared to you saving my life, it's nothing at all."

Maine took a hearty gulp of beer, downed half the bottle in one go, and continued, "I was wondering when I'd go see you properly to say thanks, but I never expected to run into you here at the Afterlife. Did you guys pick up another gig?"

"Sort of. Just wrapping up some loose ends from the last job." Karl looked at Maine. "Are you on vacation?"

"Plucked my life back from the jaws of death the day before yesterday, of course I need a good rest... Then again, normal mercs live hand-to-mouth. Look at you guys, taking on jobs way too diligently. You just woke up today, and you're already out chasing contracts."

"Today was just about picking up the job and getting the lay of the land. We'll be taking a break for a while after this." Karl sipped his soda water. "Has your fixer transferred the payout for this job to your account yet?"

"If that bastard dared to skim from this, I'd twist his head right off." Maine countered, "Did Faraday send the money over?"

"Not bad. It hit the account an hour after the job was done."

Jackie, sitting nearby, suddenly looked curious about something. "Speaking of which, Maine, you took that gig solo—how much did you get from the fixer who hooked you up?"

"One hundred and fifty thousand eddies. Most I've ever made on a single job."

"One hundred and fifty thousand..."

Hearing that figure, Karl and the others silently did the math in their heads.

The payout they received had been three hundred thousand, which averaged out to one hundred thousand per person. Compared to Maine's one hundred and fifty thousand, they were short by nearly half.

Since the fixer's cut was supposed to be calculated per head, it should have been the same, which meant...

"That bastard Faraday skimmed a huge chunk of our money."

"What do you mean?"

Maine looked puzzled. When he learned that Karl and the others had only received one hundred thousand per person based on head count, the corners of his mouth twitched. "That bastard Faraday, as greedy as a stray dog fighting for scraps in the alley."

"Calculated that way, he took an even bigger cut than what fixers usually take."

Hearing this, Oliver felt his previously good mood sour instantly. Really, what normal mercenary could be happy learning that most of their payout had been embezzled?

"We'll be more selective with our next gig," Jackie said from the side. "Anyway, our crew's made a bit of a name for ourselves because of Karl now. It's about time we picked and chose our fixers... I've got a connection anyway. When we want to take a job next time, let's contact Padre. Padre should have some decent gigs."

"Padre? You mean Padre, the fixer from Heywood?"

Maine was somewhat surprised by the fixer Jackie mentioned, because, "Padre's league is different from a hack like Faraday. You had a connection to him and didn't even take his jobs?"

"Before, I figured our reputation wasn't big enough and didn't want to bother him. But now I see things clearly—if we've got the skills, why let a stray dog like Faraday gorge himself on our pay?"

As Jackie spoke, his peripheral vision caught sight of someone approaching.

"Mind if I join?"

A heavily built, blonde-haired woman walked up to them.